Times Did and One Did Not
by Feste the Fool
Summary: A collection of "X times that This Thing happened and One Time The Opposite Happened" stories, each one focusing on a different character. Better explanation inside. 6. Ariel Wandered
1. One Time Morgause Smiled

**Disclaimer: Still excellent books. Still not mine.**

**Explanation:**  
This is very different from the stuff I usually do, which goes right in hand with the theme I seem to be presenting with my Squire's Tales fics. I'm sure you've all seen one of those "X (usually 3/5/7) times that (Character) did something and one time the opposite happened" stories? This story is ten of those, all of which focus on a different character, naturally. Each one will increase in value—this is one/one, the next will be two/one, then three/one, then four and so on. Each different situation takes place at a different time, and the times can jump around pretty chaotically. I'm doing about a situation a day, so the first chapters will come pretty quickly—on the other hand, bear in mind I do need to reread everything. This will be an eleven chapter story—ten XandOnes and one at the end that, while it doesn't really combine the previous ten together, still is a nice finishing tale because...well, you'll see. I'll post spoiler warnings and time stamps before the title of each story. Each situation will range from a few sentences to a few paragraphs...I think the shortest single section so far is the second on in this chapter, and the longest is about 370 words. So don't expect epics or anything.

Still confused? Me too. Just read the first one and maybe it'll make more sense.

* * *

**No spoilers here, unless you haven't read the books at all—and both episodes take place before Gawain is even born. **

* * *

**One Time Morgause Smiled, and One Time Morgause Smiled And Meant It.  
**

* * *

"And now, your choice." The old woman took three vials from a shelf and placed them before the enchantress. "The first vial contains a beauty potion; the second, a love potion; the third, a healing cordial. You may have one."

"One? Only one?" the girl responded, looking distastefully down at the bottles. "Why not more?"

"Tradition, Morgause," her teacher said, smiling and shaking her head. "It is a test of sorts, but there is no way to pass or fail."

Morgause cocked her head, not taking her eyes from the vials on the cave floor. "What did you choose?"

"Love," the woman replied promptly. "And it served me well, long ago. Do you want to know more about the potions?"

"Yes," the girl said, lifting the first vial. "How long does the beauty last?"

Her teacher laughed. "As long as you live, my dear girl. Is that all you wish to know?"

She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. She wanted to know so much more—for instance, why was there not a vial for instant influence or power? "All you can tell me, yes. I choose beauty."

* * *

"We shall be together forever, Morgause, my love," Lot said, taking her hands and kissing them. He was besotted with the young girl who had recently agreed to be his wife. "I shall do everything in my power to please you."

"Everything?" the blushing maiden said, dark eyes flashing as her mind raced ahead, plotting a dozen things at once.

"Everything I can," her betrothed said, kissing her cheek.

The Enchantress smiled. 


	2. Two Times Dinadan Cried

**Mild spoilers for _The Ballad of Sir Dinadan_. Nothing really specific, but if you don't want the entire Romantic Subplot between Dinadan and Brangienne to be ruined, skip the middle story. The first story takes place before _Ballad_ picks up**. **The second takes place after _Ballad_ ends. The last takes place in an imaginary battle I invented off the top of my head after the story ends. Another warning: The last story does involve a non graphic description of a battlefield.  


* * *

Two Times Dinadan Cried While He Sang, and One Time He Sang While He Cried

* * *

**

Finding where Tristram had hidden the rebec was the easy part; sneaking out of his father's castle had been harder. Dinadan had managed both and now stole away to the small, nearby wood. He could run away if he wanted, he supposed—his mother had been dead a week, and his father was still too mournful to care about anything else—but where would he go? No, it was better to just escape for a few hours and practice.

The young boy sat the forest's edge, legs crossed, his rebec in his lap. He strummed a few strings—it was out of tune, but he could barely play now as it was. Dinadan strummed another dissonant cord, trying to find the beginning of a song, any song. He fought with the music for nearly an hour before giving up with a mild oath and tossing the rebec aside.

He sat, staring at it, so positive he would never be a good musician _or_ knight. "I suppose if I can't play, I can always sing," he said aloud, his words seemingly muffled by the darkness of night. Fascinated by the muted sounds, he began to hum a ballad. He hummed louder and louder and finally burst into song. His light tenor was made even lighter by the night. He sang several verses and was working on a third or fourth chorus when he realized he was singing his mother's favorite song.

Memories—recent and long past—washed over him. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to recall his mother at her finest. Her gentle hands and warm smile, her loving face and beautiful voice. She had given him music, and he could never love her enough for it. Tears gathered behind his closed lids and trickled out of the corners of his eyes. They tracked down his cheeks and fell, sinking into the ground beneath him. He sang through his tears, finishing the song with a sob, and allowed himself to grieve at last.

* * *

"Ah, there you are, my friend."

Sir Dinadan nearly jumped off his horse, head whipping around wildly to find…nothing. "Sylvanus, you startled me," he complained, turning his mount's head in the direction of the voice.

The voice chuckled. "I thought it would be fun. And it was." He flickered into view, tossing his horned head back to better see Dinadan perched on his horse. "Jump down, why don't you, and play with me?"

"You have your pipes?" Dinadan asked, unable to keep a smile from his lips.

"You have your rebec?" the beast countered. The Knight dismounted and took the instrument from his pack. "Then let us begin. What shall we play for?"

A moment of silence. "How about for love of a woman you do not necessarily want?" Dinadan suggested, thoughts drifting to Brangienne, whom he had just visited.

Sylvanus laughed. "What a curious subject! I accept. I shall begin." He whipped out his pipe and began playing a lively tune with a satisfyingly steady beat. Dinadan grinned, letting him play a round before leaping into the melody. It was a wonderful song each was creating on the spot, involving many clashing notes at first. Between the two of them, they soon had hashed out a melody that could only be described as brazen. It reminded Dinadan of a May fair, or dancing with a girl one had only just met.

The two of them were naturally attracting attention. Soon most of the animals in the forest had gathered to hear the masters play. Seeing some of the creatures moving as if to dance lifted Dinadan's spirits so much that, before he quite knew what he was doing, he was singing. He hummed and whistled, using nonsense words and playful, dance-like lyrics he was thinking up on the spot. His voice took over the melody, allowing the rebec and pipe to play the quickly-complicating harmonies. Looking over at Sylvanus to see how he liked the song, Dinadan saw his friend was weeping with joy. Filled with music and bubbling over with happiness, Dinadan joined him. Laughter, tears, and music flooded the forest, and the very trees shook with song.

* * *

Dinadan was never really fit for knighthood. He didn't fight well and worried far too much over his hands to be what others called brave. He knew this, but rode into his first war anyway. It was brutal and bloody. Scenes of death and agony, Dinadan was afraid, would be forever scorched into his memory.

All other soldiers and knights had left for camp. Only he remained, standing at the top of a hill and looking down on the red-stained field. Corpses littered the earth, and sometimes he could make out the moans of those still dying.

Dinadan wept at the sound, great tears of tortured grief and horror. He was never meant to be a knight, and his could very well be the final proof. Even over the sound of his crying, he could hear those dreadful moans. He had to do something, anything to block them out. He did the only thing he knew best—he sang. It was a simple song, a dirge, and chant, a paean to all the men he could see. He sang softly at first, voice shaking with his tears, then gathering strength. He sang of heroism and battle, of love and loss, of tragedy and heartbreak, of destruction and death. He poured his heart into the song. It was his finest creation, but he never committed a single word to memory, never sang it again. It was for _them_ he was singing, the fallen and broken, and none else had the right to hear it.

His song ended and still he wept. The battlefield was silent.


	3. Three Times Arthur Danced

**Hoorah of hoorahs, within the next 4-7 days, I should have all books in the series except The Ballad of Sir Dinadan and The Legend of the King. I know, I need to reread Ballad more than the others...I'll work something out.**

**No spoilers this time—the "big surprise" at the end is common knowledge. First story takes place at Arthur's wedding. Second is at some indistinct time I made up—it can be after _The Squire, his Knight, and his Lady_ if you like, or before. Third takes place IMMEADIATELY after the end of the first book. Fourth takes place around the second.

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Three Times Arthur Danced With Guinevere and One Time He Stood Aside  
**

* * *

He was the King of all England, but he was lonely. One look at her and all his worries vanished away. He adored her with every ounce of his being, and he swore he would love her till the day he died. He meant the words he had said just an hour or so before. "May I have this dance, my lady?" he asked now, offering his hand to her and wishing he wasn't blushing like a page.

"Why, of course, charming lord," she answered coyly, taking his hand. They twirled around the courtyard, the pair of lovers recently wed, and all thought of how beautiful she was and how happy he looked.

"I love you, Guinevere," he whispered boldly into her ear as they drew closer at the final step.

A blush sprang across her cheeks and she stammered. "I love you, too, Arthur."

His heart strings tied themselves into a firm knot of joy. She was his and he was hers. It was the happiest day of his life.

* * *

Someone, probably a servant sneaking in a romantic moment while the gentry was away, had started a dance. Arthur didn't mind—he loved it, in fact. It was not often one could return from a tournament field and find his castle staff alive with revelry. And this was no court reel, but a scandalous country romp.

He grinned at the sight of not only his staff, still unaware they were being observed, and the horrified looks from the knights behind him. He noted with amusement which of his men were smiling—namely Kai and the visiting Parsifal and Ywain, although Dinadan was already cutting his way to the fiddle-and-drum duet in the corner and Squire Terence seemed to be making eyes at a lady across the company. He chuckled lightly and squeezed his wife's hand. "Guin," he whispered into her ear.

She jumped and looked at him, sharing the shocked looks of most of his courtiers. "A-Arthur?" she asked.

He grinned wolfishly at her, gently tugging her onto the make-shift dance floor. "Relax. Melt into the crowd. Dance with me, Love."

She blinked. "All…all right?" The Royal couple allowed the revelers to sweep them into their midst, losing themselves among the so-called rabble. A fife joined the rag-tag musician—funny, Arthur did not know Dinadan could play the pipe, and so well; he must have been taking lessons from someone. Kai laughed as Connoire bullied him into joining. Soon the whole "Round Table within the Round table," with the odd exception of Sir Gawain, was spinning and twirling with the servants of Camelot. Several fancier ladies fainted, and the tournament knights quickly took their leave.

Arthur didn't notice, because Guinevere was laughing. For once, his beloved wife was laughing at him and herself, completely relaxed, resting her head against her own shoulder, and his, in tight places, obviously without a care in the world. As the music built to a rousing climax, the King of England thought he could never be happier.

* * *

The first place Arthur went after recovering from his mysterious, energy-sapping illness was Gawain's chambers to ask if a certain knight-and-squire pair had been dabbling in his dreams. The second place was Kai's chambers, to tell his brother he was well again and _please _do not antagonize the physicians to the point of being banished from the premises and respond by sending Bedivere around to nose, the next time he happened to be injured. The third place was back to his own rooms—his young wife must have been worried.

He was right. He entered the room and could not hold back a small grunt of discomfort when Guinevere flew at him and landed on his chest, but it did feel nice to have the woman he loved running to his arms. "Oh, Arthur, Arthur," she sobbed into his shirt, trembling. "I thought…I was so afraid…I didn't...Oh, Arthur…"

"Hush, lovely one," he muttered into her hair, wrapping his arms around her. "I'm here. I'm fine. It's all right."

"Arthur, Arthur," was all she could say. The king sighed and held her tighter, moving in steady circles across the floor.

"See? Nothing's going to happen to me, not for a long time. I'm up and walking, aren't I? I'm alive and fine." Slowly they turned around the room, a gentle slow-dance to the music of her fearful sobs and his gentle heartbeat.

Arthur would think bitterly back to that day years later and wonder whether it had been losing him she feared or being left alone to rule a country. Kai and Gawain had been right—Guinevere was no queen, and it was a hard thing to marry a king.

* * *

The musicians struck up a lively tune and Arthur sighed into his cup. He ached, somewhere in the center of his chest, and the cause of the ache was sitting right next to him. A certain queen was tapping her finger absently on the table to the beat of the music, but she was giving no sign to her husband that she wanted to dance. She was unable to do anything, it seemed, than stare at the certain winner of the afternoon's tournament. Arthur's hand shook a little. He couldn't decide whether he wanted to take Guinevere into his arms and kiss her in front of the whole assembly, or just strangle Sir Lancelot with his own hands for tempting his wife in such a way. He toyed with the idea of doing both at once.

The French knight was now approaching the table. "Heaven preserve me," Arthur whispered to himself, catching the hungry look in Guinevere's eye as Lancelot stepped closer.

"Sire," Lancelot said, bowing low first to Arthur, then to Guinevere. "Milady. I with to ask your forgiveness, Sire, for being so forward about your wife's token yesterday. It was a grievous error."

"Nonsense, Sir Knight," Arthur said, waving his hand as if the wave the apology away. The words caught in his throat. Could he choke on a lie, he wondered? "No harm done. I'm sure the queen is honored that you won the tournament for her."

"Oh, quite honored," she answered after a long pause. "Isn't the music lovely? Just perfect for dancing."

Arthur froze. He felt like he'd walked straight into a trap. If he refused to dance with his wife, it would seem that he was angry with her for the events of the last few days, making the court restless and nervous. If he did dance with her and dismissed himself so suddenly from Lancelot's presence, there was sure to be discontent among the new French knights. He supposed he could find a young lady for Lancelot's partner…but there was a look in Guinevere's eyes he had never been able to refuse. And if she danced with _him_, all corners of Camelot would be at peace.

All but his.

"Actually, I'm rather tired, Love," Arthur finally answered, the words low and slow with the effort of maintaining a straight face. "I think I'll just enjoy the party from here. Why don't you dance with Lancelot for a while?"

"Thank you, Arthur!" she said, and bounded over to the French knight as if she couldn't be rid of her husband fast enough. The king watched as the couple twirled around the room, ever aware of the joyous expression on her face.

It was at that moment he knew exactly what a broken heart felt like.


	4. Four Times Gaheris Loved

**Got my books and read them all. Finished The Squire's Quest this morning and was feeling...very odd, to say the very least. Sorry I've been neglecting these—I was stalling until I could get a chance to reread.**

**Chronological order, hooray! The first one takes place a few months after Lynet and Gaheris' marriage. The second, before Luneta's birth. The third, Luneta's birth. The fourth is an event I made up, taking place a month or so after Luneta's birth and involving Gawain In Peril. The "Did Not" is another imaginary event taking place probably when Luneta is a year or so old. No spoilers... I think.**

**

* * *

Four Times Gaheris Loved Lynet and One Time He Rather Wished He'd Never Met Her  
**

* * *

The door opened and Gaheris sat up straighter. Lynet entered and hung her cloak by the door. "Gary, dear," she called. "About half and hour's hard ride south of here is a knight who wants to speak to you. Can you go and see him in the morning?

Gaheris rose and stretched, stiff from the day's labor. "I could go out now—"

"No, it can wait until morning," she insisted, coming over and taking the seat next to him. He sat again, slowly. "He was very rude."

"Rude? About what?"

"He's…confused." Her lips twisted into something that was not quite a smile. "Insisted he had a right to our lands and was coming to…ah… 'slay the impertinent blackguard who dared steal his inheritance.'"

"Oh, blast," he said, standing again and starting for the door.

"Gary," Lynet said, rising and putting her hand on her hand on his shoulder. She corralled him neatly away. "It can _wait." _

"But if he's really so deteremined—" Gaheris stopped and for the first time really took in his wife's muddy dress hem, the footprint on her cloak, and the strange sword propped up next to said cloak. He closed his eyes and put a hand to his temple. "What did you do?"

She sat. "I explained that he must be wrong and told him you would be glad to explain it to him. I told him that this was your brother's land and you had been made his steward. But when he found out I was the Lady of the House, he swore he'd kill us both within the day. And he did appear to be a better fighter than you, not that it takes much."

He grinned away the insult, eyes sparkling. "Ah, my poor defenseless wife, threatened. What did you _do?_"

"Nothing! I just stepped out of reach, turned his feet into tree roots—then—" she raised her voice over his shout of laughter. "—I knocked his sword out of his hand and told him you would be with him shortly. You needn't waste your evening with the likes of him. Ah—if he still insists on fighting you, you wouldn't mind an apple tree on the property, would you?"

* * *

This isn't just a state dinner you can sneeze your way out of, Gary," Kai said, shaking his head with disgust and pity. "Every knight possible has been ordered to attend—tournament and ball. You're going to have to have an honest reason for skipping if you don't show up."

"Gary, dear," Lynet said as her husband opened his mouth to answer. She lightly stroked his arm. "I'm afraid we're going to have to tell him."

"Tell him wha—ah." He forced a cough as she subtly dug her fingernails into his arm, catching the obvious hint. "Well…I suppose if it can't be avoided. Would have come out sooner or later anyway…"

"Tell me what?" Kai raised an eyebrow.

"He can't go because he has to stay here and take care of me." She smiled and laced her fingers through Gaheris'. "In about five and a half months, we're going to be parents."

The seneschal's eyes popped. "You—you mean—you're—" Gaheris coughed again, this time to disguise a laugh. After processing the information for another moment, Kai grinned wide and rigorously shook Gaheris' free hand. "Congratulations, the both of you! Gary, you cur—why all the secrecy?"

"You know how Gawain gets around the women in the family," Gaheris said, waving his hand vaguely. "And soon Gareth and Lyonesse would be all over the place, too. They're the last people we want to see right now."

"I want peace and rest, with maybe a little company later on." Lynet nodded solemnly as she spoke. "But I shall be quite…indisposed—" Gaheris hid another laugh at the though of his wife being 'indisposed' "—come banquet time."

"Oh, I understand. I'll explain everything back at court."

Kai stayed for dinner and left afterward, still smiling like a fool. When at last he disappeared from sight, Gaheris laughed, loud and long, and swept his lady into his arms.

"Lynet, you savage damsel," he said, kissing her nose and circling his arms around her waist. "Where did you learn to lie like that?"

"Gaheris, you pathetic excuse for a knight," she answered, smiling slyly and moving his hands to her front—_was her stomach tighter than usual?_ "I wasn't lying."

* * *

With one last, loving look at Lynet, Gaheris gingerly lifted his newborn daughter and held her close. "Hello, little one," he whispered to her, caressing her tender red cheek with a huge, calloused finger. "Hello, my little Luneta."

Lynet, lying in bed, flushed. "What a lovely…familiar name."

"And why shouldn't the two women in my life have lovely, familiar names?" he asked, never taking his eyes from Luneta. His whole face was alight with new found love. "Isn't she beautiful, dear?"

"Oh, yes. She's very pink," Lynet replied wryly, poking him with a teasing finger, her smile matching his.

* * *

Lynet sank into the second chair beside the bed. "Oh, my love," she whispered. "I leave for two days and come home to _this?"_

Gaheris ignored the reprimand, tightening his grip on his favorite brother's sweaty hand.

"Easy…Gary," Gawain muttered through his shivering and chattering teeth. "And hello…to you, too…fine lady." He sounded so _tired._

"He came to see the baby and took sick on the road," Gaheris explained, voice shaking almost as much. He'd never seen any of his brothers so sick before. "I tried everything I could think of but—"

He was interrupted by a deep, painful-sounding cough from Gawain. "Gently, gently," Lynet warned him, bracing his shoulders with her arm as he sat upright to cough. His face turned as red as his hair with the effort. "And just where is your squire? He certainly would never have allowed this."

"Away…" Gawain gasped when he'd finished his coughing fit. "He was…away…I left…alone."

"Can you help him?" Gaheris asked.

Lynet looked at them—her husband's eyes, dark with worry, and her brother-in-law's, fever-bright—and sighed. "Of course I can. After all, his grace would have my head if I couldn't."

Gawain alone caught the final sentence and chuckled. Gaheris simply smiled.

* * *

Gaheris sighed heavily, glancing at the trees around him in frustration. Behind him, Lynet was tense, chewing her lip in silence, giving the forest the same once-over. Neither said anything for some time.

He turned around to face her with an expression of mixed bitter frustration and mild horror. "Don't look at me like that!" she burst, crossing her arms over her chest, cheeks red.

"And here I thought this was only a nightmare," he said icily. "An army approaches Belrepeire and we are the only ones who know of it—"

"Don't you dare start—"

"—The only chance of warning Parsifal in time his going through this wood—"

"—Gaheris, I swear, if you—"

"—I've never been here before—"

"—Only because you're such a priggish friend—"

"—And the only guide we have is _your sense of direction!_"

"If you weren't the father of my child, you'd be a toad by now," Lynet snapped back.

"Well I'm glad _that_ much is a solid fact. Now, how long did you walk before you could _see the castle from these woods?_"


	5. Five Times Sarah Mourned

**Sorry about the delay. School's out now, and I'm mostly calmed down, so hopefully I should be getting back into the swing of things. Also, I tried to keep these as light as possible, but considering the subject matter, some of them are quite angsty. If you prefer light and fluffy, you'll like the next one.  
**

**_SPOILER WARNING!_ **

**All of these contain mild spoilers except the first one. The first three and the "did not" take place during The Princess, the Crone, and the Dung-Cart Knight, and the "did not" has a word-for-word book quote, underlined for your convenience. The first takes place immediately after Dioneta's death, the second, shortly after Charis and Sarah become friends, and the third, during some random point of travels sometime in between those two. You got it—no more chronological order. The fourth takes place a little before chapter four of The Squire's Quest. The fifth spoils part of Quest in kind of a medium way—not too big, but none too small. It takes place after Gawain arrives back at Camelot. The fifth takes place at the end of Dung-Cart Knight.**

* * *

**Five Times Sarah Missed Her Mother and One Time She Did Not**

* * *

Sarah wept hard as she ran from the pyre that held the still-charring bodies of her mother and guardian. The sun was beginning to set in the west and the dimming light made it more difficult to see her way. Not that she knew where she was going. As far as she knew, she had no where to go. She was more alone than she had ever been in her entire life, and for the first time, she truly understood what that meant. She had no one, not a single friend or guide.

She choked on another sob and ducked under a low-hanging branch, wincing as her feet found a sharp stone in the forest floor. She wanted her mother. Mordechai was a good man, yes, and she loved him and would miss him in the years to come—but just at this moment, she wanted her mother so badly she feared her heart would burst. Just when she thought she couldn't take anymore, she came up on a house. Throwing herself down on the doorstep without another thought, she wrapped her arms around her stomach and cried herself to sleep.

* * *

Charis was a lovely girl. Despite her gnawing fears for the knights in the dungeon, she found herself able to enjoy Charis' company. But Sarah just could not understand her new young friend.

The girl obviously didn't seem to find her "stupid girl" act all that troubling. Perhaps she had done it for so long, it was more like a part of her and less of an act. Sarah knew if _she_ personally had had to keep it up, she would not have been able to last more than ten minutes. And while Charis seemed to love the freedom of talking to another human being without dumbing down her speech, she seemed just as free in pretending to be a bubblehead in front of a large group of people.

Sarah shook her head and turned her attention back to her plate, trying to think of a plan instead of musing over her new friend's behavior. Perhaps all girls had similar aspects of their personality. Perhaps all girls acted like that sometimes. Sarah wouldn't know if they did. Apart from her mother, she'd never gotten to know another woman very well.

She glanced at Charis again, suppressing a pang of grief. She wished she had spoken more to her mother about the ways of the world. Perhaps then she would understand.

* * *

"Perhaps, before we find Sir Kay, Mother will come," Ariel said, picking at the hem of her gown. "I want to see her again. I'm not used to questing like this."

"I do hope to meet your mother someday," Jean said with an uneasy smile, leaning back on his elbows. "In the stories she always sounds so grand."

Ariel wrinkled her nose and snorted softly. "She can be grand, yes, but mostly she's just Mother."

The dung-cart knight shook his head. "But she is the Lady of the Lake, Lady Ariel. She is the object of so many wondrous stories and legends. Surely her every action is fraught with magic and grace?"

"If it were, she'd be exhausted in a day." She released her hem when Sarah flicked the back of her hand and blinked in surprise at the hole she'd created. Shrugging, she began plucking blades of grass by the fire and braiding them together. "Lady of the Lake is a noble, toplofty title, I'll grant you that. She does do a lot of great, good things with her time. And she serves the Enchanter well. But when it comes right down to it, she's just like everyone else—or like everyone else's mother."

Sarah's customary frown deepened and she stretched out on the grass. "Everyone's mother is the same?"

"Well, everyone's mother has the same characteristics and habits. To everyone else, mine's the Lady of the Lake, but to me, she's just Mother. She scolds me when I do things wrong and wakes me when I have nightmares. She helps make clothes and teaches me lessons, just like everyone else's mother. The only basic difference is that it's a whole lot harder to get away with trouble." She sighed and glanced up at the stars. "All in all, she's stern and strict and loving and peevish and aggravating and soft and warm and wonderful…"

Ariel went on, encouraged by the fond expression on Jean's face. Sarah stared into the fire and said nothing.

* * *

Sarah took one look at the minstrels, mummers, acrobats, dancers, jugglers, jesters, and bards strewn around the crowded and confused main courtyard and said a whole string of foul words that made the grizzled knight errant next to her turn bright red.

The feisty princess cursed again when she realized the only was to get to her and Eileen's shared rooms was either through this courtyard our around the hallways where the spare minstrels had spilled out—and where she would be easier to identify. She closed her eyes and silently counted to five before taking a deep breath and fighting her way through the courtyard. She kept her head down the entire time and prayed that no one would recognize her.

It worked—until she reached the corner. "Lady Sarah!" called one of the ladies-in-waiting loitering with a hint of jealously. "Isn't it romantic? You'll be accepting Alexander's hand any day now, won't you?"

"_Heck_ no," Sarah gasped, but before she had a chance to say anything more, her name was picked up like a battle cry. "Lady Sarah! Lady Sarah!" echoed around the entire yard and soon those same minstrels she had so wanted to avoid were pressing in on her. Raucous noise filled her ears—uncreative songs jumbled together and became nonsense, while shouts of praise to her features added to the claustrophobic cacophony. She suddenly became very fond of mummers. "Quiet!" she shrieked, but no one heard. "Get off! Get away from me! Let me through, blast you!" Another long string of expletives followed as she fought her way into the castle proper.

A quick jump into a side hall and short cut through the servant's quarters and she was rid of them. Or at least, almost all of them. She soon became aware of someone following her. Her ears turned red and she whirled around. Two silent courtiers with baskets were strewing rose petals at her feet with every step. "Do you mind?" Sarah snapped, none too happy with the day's proceedings as of yet.

"We are covering your path with petals, Lady Sarah," said one courtier, tossing another hand full.

"Yes, I can see that," she said, voice thick with impatience. "Care to explain why?"

"Because one of your unprecedented beauty, purity, grace, wit, charm—"

"Cut to the point, please?"

The servant paused, slack-mouthed, and found his place. "Ah…should never have to tread on mere ground as all the other common mortals, Lady Sarah."

Another list of words—stronger ones, and some in Mordechai's language that she'd forgotten she knew. "Well, you can pack it up and take it home, right now."

"Excuse me, my lady?"

"Stop it," the "lady" shouted, fed up. "Quit following me. And tell your master he can throw himself off the highest tower in the castle!"

But they did not stop, not until they had finally reached Eileen's room and Sarah had split her knuckles open with the chatty servant's face before slamming the door on both of them. "This is NOT my idea of love _OR_ courtship!" she yelled in response to Eileen's cries of surprise and amusement.

Sarah stormed into the side chamber to wrap her hand and soon found herself sagging against the wall, face buried in her good hand. No other ladies were courted in such…loud, horrid manners! She was fairly sure her father didn't court her mother in that manner, either. In fact, if her mother were here…She sighed and stood, seeking out the ointment Eileen had received from Lady Lynet. She missed her mother, yes, but it was no use thinking about it now. She had bigger things to think about.

On second thought, what fiendish and gruesome death would her mother help her think of to bestow upon young Alexander?

* * *

News of Alexander's death hit Camelot hard. None but those who knew her best were surprised when the news hit Lady Sarah hardest of all. For days she would not leave her rooms and Eileen had to beg her to eat. She did not cry. She would not belittle her love's death with tears. She had worn herself out on tears after her mother and Mordechai.

Instead, she stared out her window over Camelot and remembered him. He was a rare man, something she had not grasped until he had left for home. He was a rare and honest man, and she was quite astonished to realize she loved him. She was even more astonished to realize she would never stop loving him, just as she still cherished her memories of her early years.

There was still a terrible ache in her chest, an emptiness she had not known was there. She stopped smiling—and at the same time, seemed to smile more often. It was a soft, sad, sweet smile she knew Alexander would have loved to see.

"The pain never goes away, Eileen," she admitted one night after dinner. "Not even for…for those long lost." There was that smile again.

Eileen returned it. "I know. I still miss my mother and father, too."

"I hope to God you never lose Terence," she added, shuddering and edging away from the fire. "I never want anyone to feel what I'm feeling now. I…I didn't even know…" Both women closed their eyes—Sarah in pain, and Eileen in silent prayer. "I didn't even know until it was too late. Do you suppose he knows I love him?"

Eileen opened her eyes and smiled again at the present tense. She moved closer to her friend and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I'm sure he does. And wherever his spirit is—heaven, paradise, Avalon—I'm sure he's at peace in your love."

Sarah nodded and buried her face into Eileen's shoulder. It was more an action for a mother than a friend, but Sarah needed a mother right then.

* * *

"Sorry, Sarah, but that's the way it is. You're family now, and that means you're stuck with the lot of us."

Gawain would never know how much Sarah needed to hear those words—she didn't even know how much she needed them until she heard them. They would stay with her for the rest of her life. Hope blossomed in her heart, and a bubbly joy she'd never thought she'd feel again settled over her.

She had a family—a wonderful family, filled with bad apples, rotten eggs, and magnificent people. She was wanted. She was loved. She was accepted. For the first time in a long time, she was happy. And for the first time since she'd first run from that accursed village, she was at peace.


	6. Six Times Ariel Wandered

**Hey guys! Look what I found! **

**It was buried in the annuls of my Documents folder and I was doing some moving around and it only had one "did" scene missing because I couldn't ever remember what "did" I was going to finish with, but then I was talking to someone and Inspiration happened and tada! **

**Don't expect another update soon. The reason it looks like I've been ignoring these is I lost my handwritten notes as to who the main characters were going to be for 7-9 (10's practically written and the epilogue's been finished for over a year) and the notes about them on my computer are wrong and outdated and contradict themselves. So still puzzling that out. But here, have this! Enjoy! Have some ADORBS!**

* * *

**Six Times Ariel Was Lost And One Time She Was Exactly Where She Belonged**

* * *

According to Nimue, Ariel went missing when she was three. Ariel didn't remember the exact event, but it was true that her earliest memory was one of being first lost, then found.

She had toddled out of the house while her mother shouted at someone; it hadn't seemed worth her attention at the time. In fact, it was that noise that pushed her to venture beyond the safety of her front door, for she would rather face the great unknown than her mother in a towering rage. So out the door and down the street the child went and, amid the hurry and bustle of the city on a busy day, was soon farther from home than she'd ever been. It was only about a quarter of a mile, but to Ariel's small feet, she'd been walking for days. Quite beside herself, she sat down by the side of the road and began to sniffle.

The sniffling sound caught the attention of the old man standing in front of another doorway. He had a very long beard and was quite impressive— distant and distracted as he seemed, he could still hear the sniffling over the noise of the street and knew immediately where it was coming from. "Ariel?" he said, surprise coloring his strong voice. "Is that you? What on earth are you doing here without your mother?"

"Merlin?" said the woman he was speaking with. "Who are you talking to?"

The old man reached down and scooped the three-year-old into his arms. "My little dear one, here. She appears to be lost." He planted a tender kiss on her forehead, smiling when she giggled at the tickle of his whiskers. "Come on, child. Let's get you back home."

* * *

"Once upon a time…" the bard began. He really needn't have continued. He had his small audience hooked already. Ariel listened at the fringe of the crowd, eyes glazing in excitement as the story continued. She had heard it before. It was one of her favorites—Tristram and Isolde—but every storyteller seemed to tell it differently.

The man was just getting to the part about King Mark discovering the lovers when Ariel heard her name being called. A hand grasped her arm. "Ariel! I've called you three times already. Where is your head today?"

"I'm sorry, Mother," the five-year-old said sheepishly. "I lost track of time."

"That's not all you lost," Nimue scolded. "Where's your basket?"

"Um…" She glanced around. The basket containing her afternoon's homework—healing herbs and cooking spices, and a "cheat" sheet on how to tell the difference—was no where to be seen. "Oops?"

"Oops is right." Her mother sighed and shifted her own basketful of groceries to her other arm. "Come on. Let's start over."

* * *

"In conclusion," the tutor droned. "If Sir Edward slays fifty of Sir Sangrimoure's men-at-arms, and Sir Sangrimoure hires thirty mercenaries to make up for the loss, which is the greater army?"

Seven-year-old Ariel chewed her bottom lip in intense concentration. She doodled on her work, scratching down numbers and marking them out. After a minute or so, she met her teacher's eye again. "May I ask questions about the problem?"

"Of course," said Mistress Chisliane. The tutor saw the girl's mother nod in approval out of the corner of her eye and smiled. Many tutors dissuaded their pupils from questions. She was glad to see she had made the right choice in the Lady of the Lake's eyes in allowing Ariel's inquiries. "Ask your question, child."

"Did Sir Edward slay all fifty men himself?"

Mistress Chisliane froze in confusion. "What?"

"Did Sir Edward slay all the men himself, or did he have help?" she repeated. "And did he slay them all at once, or one at a time? I want to know if he counts as fifty men or just one. Maybe two…"

"Child, I don't think you quite—"

"Of course, it would also depend on the one who started the whole business in the first place," Ariel went on. "If their families or friends disapprove, or if they know important people who don't want war, the men may leave."

"Who said anything about a war—"

"The men could back down anyway, I suppose. If they have morals and their leaders do not," she continued, now thoroughly caught up in her musings. "Which is the better knight, Sir Edward or Sir Sangrimoure? I mean the better person, of course, although I guess it would be best to know which one is the better fighter, too. I don't think Sir Edward is very kind if he goes around slaying other knight's men, but good knights don't use mercenaries, either…"

"Child," the teacher said sternly while Nimue shook with silent laughter.

"How many scouts and spies does each man have? Did they manage to get to the other army? How many men does each knight have besides the ones in the question? Or are those the only ones that matter? How much information does each man have? Is there an ambush waiting anywhere? How smart are the knights? Do they lead their armies themselves, or do they have generals? How much land does each man own? How well taken care of are the armies? What day—"

"Child! Please!" Mistress Chisliane snapped, startling Ariel into silence. "You seem confused as to what the question is asking."

The girl stopped, and for the first time since the lesson began, looked her age—cautious, eager, uncertain, painfully young. "Question?"

Chisliane fought to ignore the strange gulping-choking sounds coming from Nimue as she struggled to contain her laughter. "The _question._"

"Oh." Ariel was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry. I've forgotten the question."

"That's all right, child. It was…" She stopped and closed her mouth as her mind went blank. "It's…how many…uh…"

Nimue snorted before she could stop herself. Mistress Chisliane whirled around and glared at her. "I'm sorry," she explained. "I should have told you that Ariel usually sits in the corner during our council meetings. I didn't know how much she was picking up."

"I don't think you need my services, My Lady," Chisliane answered, standing and turning toward the door. "The girl needs a logician, not a maths tutor."

* * *

The woods in the World of Men were stranger and less familiar than those of the Other World, especially near dusk. Ariel knew she should not have run when she saw the wolf—it was far safer for her near the water and Passage than in the forests of this world—but she had panicked. She nearly wept with relief when she saw the campfire through the trees. After watching the yeoman tending the fire for some time to make sure he was safe, she stepped into view.

She knew she must look a sight—her gown torn, muddy, and oviously of much better quality than the yeoman would see in a lifetime; sparkling jewels at her throat; wilting flowers in her hair; dressed as a princess for the faery festival she had snuck away from back when the sun was bright overhead—but she didn't care.

"Excuse me, sir," she said as politely and regally as she could manage. "Could you be so kind as to direct me to the nearest source of water?"

* * *

She thought she knew what was right and what was wrong.

She thought she knew a lot of things, but traveling with Sarah and Lancelot was a completely different experience than she expected.

Ariel stared, her face white and drawn, as Sarah cleaned the blood from her sword. The sword she'd just used to _kill _that man. Ariel didn't even know his name. Had someone said it? If they had, she'd forgotten. And there was Sarah, whom she _thought _was her friend, cool as a cucumber, cleaning her blade as if she killed every day.

She thought it was wrong to kill…but the man had been evil, had done something wrong…did that make it right?

_What is right and wrong? _she wondered, her wide eyes looking to Lancelot. He was good, too, or so she had believed, but he had done something bad once, too. Did he deserve to die?

Or what if murder was wrong, no matter the crimes done by the one murdered? Suddenly _nothing _looked so precious in Ariel's eyes. Lancelot had killed, as had Sir Gawain…_and her mother. _Was her mother evil, too? She'd heard Ganscotter say that in the world of men, evil could become absolute corruption and goodness could become divine. Now she had to struggle to see the lines between any of it. And if it was like that _here, _then what did it mean for her homeland, that thrived in shades of gray?

Then Sarah looked up and it felt like a door slamming in Ariel's face. She was _trembling, _this girl who had just taken a life, her eyes swimming with tears. It was a reflection of Ariel herself, an image of the same dizzy struggle Ariel felt.

The color rushed back into her cheeks. If Sarah could look just as lost as Ariel felt, maybe there was hope yet for the both of them.

* * *

It was Ariel who discovered the closing of the gates. She was on her way to visit Sarah and deliver a letter to Gawain on the way home. She waved farewell to her mother and turned again, taking a deep breath, and walking the few steps forward toward the Passage—

A pins-and-needles sensation spread over her body, stemming from a point on the top of her head where she felt as if she'd just head-butted a wall. She was pushed back, under the water, and quickly broke the surface. The water was only knee deep. Ariel puffed out an angry little breath and sat in the river, rubbing the top of her head, while Nimue called out her name.

"I'm fine, Mother," she said, feeling the familiar weight of hand on her shoulder. "I'm not hurt."

"You're certain?" Nimue said, parting her hair to inspect her scalp where she was rubbing.

Ariel nodded. "What happened?"

The Lady of the Lake, keeping one hand on her daughter's shoulder, turned and pushed a bit at the air where the gate should have been. "…it's closed," she muttered as Ariel stood and rung water out of her skirt. "The gate…it's like it isn't there at all."

"Could it have moved?"

Nimue shook her head. "No, it's still there, it just _thinks _it isn't." She pushed at the air again, then grabbed Ariel's arm and moved them both out of the river. "That's a spell, and a dark one, too. Blood went into workings off that spell."

Ariel swallowed the knot of fear building in her throat. "Is it just this gate, maybe, or—"

"No one would go through that much trouble to close one gate," Nimue said. She closed her eyes, then opened them and breathed in sharply. "Well, we were afraid something like this would happen. Doubtless Ganscotter already knows, but we'd better go tell him anyway."

"It's _her, _isn't it?" Nimue's tight sigh and refusal to look at her gave Ariel all the answers she needed. "What's going to happen now?"

"We wait, and we trust in Terence's ability to figure out what's wrong and break it. If the gates have closed, the Other Worlders would have been called back before the spell's casting. No one with more faery blood than he is left in the World of Men."

Ariel swallowed again, but this time the lump in her throat did not disappear. "What if he can't do it? I mean, I know he can, but what if he can't?"

"Then we are all lost."

* * *

Ariel and Nimue stepped forward together and in an instant found themselves between two massive standing stones. Ariel wanted nothing more than to scan the crowd for familiar faces, but her mother swept forward, leaving her no choice but to keep step. Being "grown up" was horrible and bothersome and she'd already decided she was going to avoid it as long as possible.

Still, she couldn't stop her eyes from sweeping over the assembly of faeries and part-faeries and knowledgeable mortals. She didn't know what she was looking for—she assumed she would know it when she found it. The coming of the end of Avalon's era had had a stifling effect on her, even with the knowledge that she would not be without her closest friends. She didn't make so many trips to the World of Men for it to affect her much, but she would miss the journeys.

She'd been…restless since the gates reopened. Her mother insisted that it was because the gates had been closed so long, but she felt there was something more to it. She was…_missing _something, something important, and she couldn't put her finger on what—

Nimue stopped and Ariel attempted to resume her perusal of the crowds. As she lifted her head, however, she found she didn't need to anymore.

Piers was walking towards her, strong and confident-looking, and she couldn't stop the elated grin from spreading across her face as she met his eyes. Something lifted in her chest. She held her arms out to him, intending to clasp his hands as they had often done in greetings before. Instead he waved her hands away and wrapped his arms around her, engulfing her in the tightest and most _desperate _hug she'd ever experienced—and she'd hugged _bears _before.

He'd grown since their last meeting, and he dwarfed her now, easily lifting her and burying his face in her shoulder. "I _missed _you," he muttered, his breath tickling her ear.

All the restless, discontented feelings she'd lived with for the last six months melted away at the sound of his voice and she chuckled against his chest. "I missed you, too," she whispered, certain he would understand without being able to hear her.

_Home, _she thought to herself as he released her and she immediately regretted the separation. _He feels like home. _The gates were closing, England was burning, heroes were dying, and if she went back into Avalon now, she'd never be able to leave again. Suddenly those grave, important thoughts didn't seem nearly as heartbreaking and imposing as they had when Piers wasn't within hand-holding distance.

Without a second thought, she reached out and took that hand so tantalizingly near. Piers didn't even blink—he gently squeezed her fingers and continued talking to the faery on his other side. Despite his new height and muscle and her much longer fingers, their hands still fit together perfectly.


End file.
